I Love It When A Mary Sue Comes Together
by Hoodoo
Summary: Fill for the A-Team Kink Meme: a Mary Sue fic. Now with extra cheese!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: No recognizable characters are mine. Thanks to The Fratellis (indie rock band from Glasgow, Scotland) for the most awesome name _ever_ for a Roller Derby participant, a spy, or a Mary Sue. The song is awesome too: it's just right for celebration when a goal is scored during football, American football, or hockey.

This was created to satisfy a fill at the A-Team Kink Meme: A Mary Sue-fic. A very cheesy, very horrible Mary Sue-fic, to be exact. With her being an expert at everything, making better plans than Hannibal, being a better con-artist than Face, maybe even getting BA over his fear of flying, and oh: being crazier than Murdock.

It's a mish-mash of move!verse and TV!verse. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>There were certain times when a tap on a vehicle might be expected. A police officer might tap after he pulled it over. A waitress at one of those retro drive-ins might tap to take your order. A hooker might tap, if the vehicle paused too long next to her spot on the curb.<p>

But a tap was not expected when said vehicle was stopped at a traffic light.

The tap came again, and B.A. immediately swelled in rage that something—somebody—dared to touch his beloved. Even regular people who weren't aware of his idiosyncrasies were supposed to just _know_ about _that._

"What the hell?" he burst out.

Hannibal shushed him. It was at his window, after all.

He could see the woman in the passenger mirror, and carefully rolled down the window.

"Can I help you?"

"Hmm . . . I'm thinking more along the lines of: can I help you?"

At the sultry voice, Face popped open the side door.

The statuesque woman standing on the curb shifted her weight to put a high-heeled boot on the running board and cocked a leather-clad hip in his direction.

"Hey there, handsome," she purred.

Her perfectly made up lips and coiffed raven hair—not to mention the black corset that accentuated her waist and pushed up in _just. the. right. spot—_made Face's tongue stick to the roof of his mouth.

"We ain't lookin' for no professional!" B.A. boomed from the driver's seat. "Git away from my van!"

The woman t'sked. "Oh, I'm not a working girl, B.A."

"What? How you know my name?"

"Oh, who doesn't know your name?" she giggled. The sound was like wind chimes. "Corporal B.A. Baracus. Colonel John Hannibal Smith. Lieutenant Templeton Peck, and Captain H.M. Murdock. If you move in the right circles, talk to the right people, everyone knows who you are."

Hannibal never liked being behind on information, and her cocky swagger grated on him.

"What can we do for you, miss?" he asked gruffly, deciding it wasn't worth trying to deny who they were. It wasn't like back in the early 80s when there was no internet and it was easier to hide. "You looking to hire the A-Team?"

"No. I think you need to hire me."

Stunned, incredulous silence rolled from the van. She plucked the forgotten cigar from Hannibal's hand and stuck it in her mouth.

"My name's Chelsea Dagger, and I've got what you need. The government denies knowing anything about me, even though I was trained by the US military. I'm a Ranger! I've got wicked computer skills, I can infiltrate the highest security levels you've ever seen, I'm witty, and I'm a damn fine cook.

"You and your team need me, Smith," she finished pompously. "But hey—your light's green now. I'll catch up to you later. Thanks for the cigar!"

She pushed her foot off the van. B.A. didn't even wait for Face to close the door before he started through the intersection.

* * *

><p>"What in the hell was <em>that?"<em> B.A. asked.

Hannibal shrugged, and watched the woman shrink in the distance through the mirror. "Something no good, I can assure you."

"She had a weird accent," Face mused. "Couldn't put my finger on it."

"South African," Murdock piped up.

Hannibal looked back at him. "Really? I got the distinct impression she had an Irish lilt to her voice."

"Yer both crazy," B.A. said. "That girl is definitely from Chicago."

They all waited for Face to add his two cents. He shrugged and said, "I don't know. Pittsburgh?"

The other three of them laughed at his choice ("not enough "yinz" and "n'ats" when she talked, Faceman!" and "She wasn't wearing any black and gold!") and the incident was pushed to the back of their minds.


	2. Chapter 2

They'd almost forgotten about her completely, until, on a stake out, she turned up again.

"Hey guys! Let me in!"

Hannibal almost spit out his coffee all over the van's dashboard. Always a true, unshakable professional, however, he managed to gulp it down, then had to gasp for breath as it burned his throat.

"You followin' us, lady? Wait—how'd you know where we were, anyway?"

"Miss Dagger," she corrected B.A, "not 'lady.' Chelsea Dagger, remember? You can call me Chels. Or Dagger. I think that sounds more like a name that should be used with a group like this. And I'm pretty good with knives."

She demonstrated with an impressive flipping of a butterfly knife out and around her fingers.

"Wasn't your hair black before?" Murdock asked, peering between the front seats at her.

Chelsea Dagger licked her lower lip and slipped a hand through her waist-length red hair. It was an odd red, the deep fiery red of goddesses, the red of comic book heroines. Most decidedly not the orange-ish red of natural red-heads.

"My hair can be any color you want it to be, Captain," she replied saucily. "Rest assured, though, my eyes will always be the same stormy-silvery-lilac."

Murdock blushed and disappeared to his own seat, in the dark of the van, again.

"Anyway," she said, turning her attention back to B.A., "to answer your question. I put a bug on your van, of course!"

The black man glowered at her, but she ignored the obvious threat and poured all of the liquid heat in her gaze back to Hannibal.

"Now, I'm glad you're sitting down. I wish this could be done in a more private, intimate setting, but seeing as how you three are rarely apart from one another, I don't suppose this is too bad."

She took a breath, and reached through the window to take Hannibal's hand.

"I think you should know," she continued, in a quiet, awe-inspiring tone, "that I may be your daughter."

For the second time she'd been near, and stake out or no stake out, B.A. jammed his foot on the gas pedal and sped away.


	3. Chapter 3

They were all more cautious and jumpy now. She turned up in unexpected places: the garage where B.A. was forever tinkering with his van (she handed him the proper wrench he'd been digging for); at a bar where Face was looking to hook up (he'd set his sights on a really sweet chick who seemed interested, but when he returned from the bar with another round of drinks for the two of them _she _was there, snogging his potential bedmate for the night. Neither of his typical two reactions: laying another guy out for horning in on his racket or getting it on with both women worked in this situation. He became extremely nauseous and went home alone); Murdock insisted he'd seen her handing out little cups of pills to the residents of the VA hospital (but he _was_ crazy, and it wouldn't be the first time he'd seen people who weren't actually there).

Hannibal dealt with it by locking himself in a hotel room and calling women from his past and demanding to know if he'd ever fathered a child no one ever told him about.

* * *

><p>They couldn't go forever without work, however, and eventually found themselves in another situation where another little guy needed help against the big, nasty corporationunion/corrupt small town sheriff/rival farmer and they agreed to step in and do something about it.

It of course involved a plane ride, and of course, as B.A. announced he wasn't getting on no damn plane with no damn crazy pilot, Chelsea Dagger showed up, shoved an anesthetic filled needle into his neck, and bodily carried him to his seat.

It was a remarkable feat, seeing as how B.A. must have out-weighed her by at least 100 pounds, and she was still wearing that corset-and-leather-pants-with-heels outfit. No one commented on her curly blonde hair.

"Well?" she asked impatiently.

The other three slumped in defeat.

"All right," Hannibal muttered.

Chelsea Dagger squee'd (Murdock had read the word, but never ever thought he'd actually meet in real life someone who truly made the sound) and glomped (ditto for the glomp action) all three awake team members.

Everything for the job went smoothly. After Chelsea Dagger took over the planning, of course. The drawings and schematics she made with a stick in the dirt made perfect sense, and even Hannibal had to grudgingly give her props for a well-thought out, easily executable plan.

The only snafu was that as they were all leaving and the plane was just barely at cruising altitude, Murdock's medications suddenly reached their half-life in his system and caused a mental break, which lead to him eventually slipping into a fugue state and unable to pilot.

Not to worry; Chelsea ordered them to take care of the catatonic madman and easily grabbed the yoke to take care of the business of flying and landing the plane.


	4. Chapter 4

When Murdock came to several hours later, he looked groggily around at the two men above him.

"We're okay? How'd we—"

Realization came to him through fuzzy brain cells, and he knew the answer to his own question.

"Oh. Never mind," he said sulkily.

"Yeah. And don't worry about B.A. being upset about being forced on a plane again either," Face said, matching the bitterness in Murdock's voice. "Chelsea Dagger whipped up some of that coconut curry tapenade he's so fond of."

Murdock sat up in horror. "Don't eat it, Bosco!" he yelled, even though he wasn't sure if he was anywhere near where B.A. was partaking of his signature dish. "It's like food the fairies offer mortals—once you eat it, you are theirs forever!"

B.A. stuck his head into the room. "What you goin' on about, fool?"

"Don't eat the food she made, B.A.!" Murdock ordered desperately. "She's a witch, she'll swallow your soul—"

"I didn't eat none of her muck, man," the black man replied. "I ain't _that_ dumb. I pushed it around my plate until she left, then I dumped it down the food disposal."

Murdock fell back onto the bed. "Oh, thank heavens."

"She's gone?" Hannibal asked, taking a seat on the side of the mattress.

"Yep. Said she'll be back tomorrow, for another action-packed, car-flipping day."

The older man groaned and ground his palms into his eyes. When he stopped and looked up again, the rest of his team was watching him closely.

"We've gotta do something about her," he said.

"Like what?" Face demanded. "She's everywhere and everything! What could we possibly do—"

"It's got to be something permanent," Murdock interrupted.

Face stopped. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped to a conspiratory level. "You mean murder?"

The pilot held his hands up. "Hey, I'm just saying what we're all thinking!"

Both B.A. and Hannibal looked thoughtful, and as they looked at each other, they could practically read the other's mind.

"Can't murder no one who don't exist," B.A. said contemplatively.

Hannibal was nodding. "That's right. She's a ghost operative. No government in the world is going to claim or deny her existence . . ."

Face nodded slowly too, catching on. "It's a victimless crime!"

They all cast guarded glances at each other until one of them laughed, then they all cackled.


	5. Chapter 5

Their best laid plans didn't come to pass, however. When she didn't show up as promised, they swallowed their pride and went looking for her.

Chelsea Dagger was unable to be found. Eventually a note was left on the windshield of the van under a wiper; it read that she had a great time, and she loved all of them and would never forget them, and she hoped that her possible Dad (Hannibal) wouldn't be too broken up that his little girl had to go make a life for herself instead of just following in his footsteps.

It was signed in flawless calligraphy and the press of lip-sticked lips at the bottom. The lip mark had made a perfect heart shape.

All four of them breathed a sigh of relief.

Later on, in odd increments, there are rumors of her. Hannibal still had contacts throughout the military who passed on information, Face always had his ear to the ground in the seedy underbelly of crime, Murdock got lots of news from crazy people, and B.A. had his old friends and neighbors from back home.

The rumors run the gamut of bizarre: one, that she appeared in Gotham City, assisting the vigilante known as Batman; two, that she had been found to have latent mutant abilities and joined up with Chuck Xavier's crew; three, that a mysterious blue police box had landed near her once and she took off with a tall, specky git who sounded like but was most definitely _not_ British; and finally, that she took part in some wizardy war and help bring down someone called You-Know-Who.

That last one was reported by Murdock, who got it from another inmate, and therefore was deemed unreliable.

Whenever a rumor surfaced, the guys looked at each other and shuddered. They were happy she was gone, but none of them were heartless enough to wish her on anyone else. They also wished feverishly on every falling star, every four-leaf clover they found, every eyelash they lost, and all the birthday candles they blew out that she never, ever, ever return.

Amen.


End file.
